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Chapter One
Keats McCulloch
Today was goingto be a great day.
I pulled the van up at work just after seven in the morning and got out. It was a brisk spring Monday in Sydney. The sky was blue, the air clean and crisp. Not even the crowded hustle at the flower markets or the stoic faces of office workers trudging to work in the city could deter my mood.
I justknewtoday was going to be a great day.
No sooner had I opened the rear doors of the van to begin unloading my haul than the back door to my shop opened and Lina and Robbie appeared.
“Morning,” Lina said cheerfully.
Robbie put a coffee cup in my hand. “Morning,” he said, taking a crate of flowers from the back. “Market busy?”
“Always.” I sipped my coffee and sighed. “Thanks.”
He smiled as he carried the box inside. “No problem.”
We went about our usual morning routine: unpack the delivery, take our daily order sheets, and get to work.
My florist shop was located right in the middle of Sydney’s central business district. Great foot traffic, perfect visibility, and some fantastic coffee shops and cafés close by.
Bloom was my baby. I’d worked hard to make my shop the successful business it was. It had been a hard and stressful start, but two years in and things were now very comfortable.
Robbie and Lina had been with me from the start, and I adored them both. Lina was in her early forties with her dark hair in a permanent ponytail. She was a hard worker with a cool demeanour and a contagious smile. Nothing fazed her at all.
Robbie was an astute florist with an eye for flair and a penchant for the dramatic. He was the same age as me, and I’d even go so far as to call him a close friend.
I didn’t have many friends. I’d been so busy...
Robbie, on the other hand, had a gazillion. He had a great social life and a wonderful boyfriend.
I didn’t have either of those.
My shop had been my life for the past few years. And I was okay with that. I was proud of my little florist shop, and I was proud of myself for realising my dream. I was thirty years old, and not many folks my age could say they’d accomplished their dream goals.
Aside from the loneliness that sometimes plagued me, I was very happy.
And today was going to be a good day. I could feel it. A good week, even.
Around two o’clock in the afternoon, when most of the orders were out for delivery, I was manning the desk when a guy walked in. He was in his mid-twenties, at a guess. He was kinda short, maybe five five, with chocolate brown hair, even darker eyes, and tanned skin. He had a bit of a beard happening. He wore high-end grey-blue pants with a white shirt that looked expensive.
And he came in on a mission.
“Hi,” I said from behind the counter.
He smiled, showing me perfect teeth, and yeah, wow. He was really kinda gorgeous.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes. I need some flowers,” he said, referring to a list on his phone. “Uh, monkshood, wolfsbane, and foxglove.” His big bright eyes and pleasant smile threw me off guard for a moment. “Please.”
What the hell?
“Uh, well, no. They’re . . . you can’t have those . . . because those are . . . those are thebadflowers.”
He made a face. “I thought you’d say that.” He went back to his list. “Any chance of a stinging tree? Some people call it a gympie-gympie or a—” He made a face. “—suicide tree, which is probably not the nicest?—”
